


Obscurity

by rainsrabble



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-27 07:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13876290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainsrabble/pseuds/rainsrabble
Summary: Hermione has a black knight that watches over her.





	1. Obscurity

** Obscurity **

Draco Malfoy was an evil Git. Strutting around Hogwarts like he owned it, sneering at those he considered inferior…which was pretty much everybody. He was cocky and rude and self-centered. He was annoyingly intelligent. Hermione hated that she had to struggle to keep ahead of him in her studies. He didn't even care, he didn't even try, and she had to work twice as hard as he did just to make sure she beat him.

What drove her craziest was the wondering. Was he smarter than her? Was the only reason she stayed ahead because he didn't try? Sometimes she just wanted to scream at him, to challenge him. Just to know. But she didn't think that she could bear it if she lost to him. So she studied and she wondered and she watched him goof off.

Brutally cruel to her when people were around. He'd even called her a Mudblood on more than one occasion. He constantly antagonized her friends. He had a special sneer just for her. A particularly malicious evil sneer. If there was trouble Malfoy was at the center of it and inevitably he would attempt to pull Harry and Ron in with him.

Oh Yes, Draco hated the three of them, her especially, with an all-consuming passion. At least that is what it looked like to the outside observer. But Draco was anything but simple, anything but easy to understand. Sometimes he hated her, and sometimes he looked out for her.

First year, Hermione had fallen off her broom. It was the first and last time that she had ever flown. No one had noticed her falling and she had never been more terrified in her life. The ground was rushing up to meet her when suddenly her arm was almost jerked from its socket. She had looked up into the face of none other than Draco Malfoy, his hand firmly grasped around her wrist, tight as a vise.

He had lowered her down, set her gently on her feet and flown away without a word. She had stared after him like an idiot, massaging her shoulder, and gaping stupidly. She had thought about approaching him after class but she hadn't known what to say. The very next day he had gotten in her face and called her a filthy little Mudblood for the very first time. The saving of her life was never mentioned.

She remembered one particular instance of being cornered by Crabbe and Goyle in a dark corridor during her second, or maybe it was her third year. Anyway, like a complete and utter idiot she was out and about without her wand. She hadn't noticed before just how mean and big the two Slytherin boys were.

Somehow they were a lot more threatening when she was alone with them in the dark. She had been frantically trying to decide whether to run or stand her ground when Malfoy had appeared at the end of the corridor. He called for his goons and when they protested he had snapped at them to hurry it up. She had never known for sure whether it was accident or design that he had saved her.

There was that terrifying night of the Quidditch cup. She had been separated from Harry and Ron and had been creeping along, Malfoy's dire warning about her knickers ringing in her head when she had been grabbed from behind and pulled into a thicket of trees. For a moment she felt blind panic and tried to bite the hand that was pressed up against her mouth ruthlessly.

In retaliation she had been pulled up flush against a muscled chest, an arm wrapped intimately against her middle. "Do you have a death wish?" Malfoy had asked softly, his hot breath in her ear, his voice a distinctive drawl that crawled over her senses.

She had never been so close to him before, and even now she can still remember the way that he had smelled. Like expensive cologne and mint and some indefinable scent that she associated with Malfoy. A clean warm man smell that was unique to him.

He had shortly removed his hand from her mouth and her skin had felt cold where he had touched her. "Be quiet." He had whispered into her ear and then she had seen them. A group of masked Wizards moving into the clearing where she had been. They seemed to be talking and laughing but she heard no sound, they must have used a silencing charm.

Malfoy had placed his hand at her waist and squeezed gently. "Go back through these tree's, about 30 feet North, you'll run into your friends."

He had released her and stepped into the clearing ranting and raving about having seen Mudblood Granger head off South and why hadn't they found her yet? She had stood frozen for a long second, remembering the way his touch had felt and mourning the loss of his warmth before her brain had kicked in and she had rushed off to find her friends.

That was the first time that she had realized that she was physically attracted to Draco Malfoy.

At the time she had thought it was just because no boy had ever touched her that way before, she was bound to get fluttery. But now, all this time later, she had been held and kissed by other boys. She knew that bone melting wobbly feeling was attuned just to him.

There were other incidences. Small, odd, abnormalities in her life. Things that made no sense in her well-ordered existence. Things she didn't talk about. Sometimes she would watch him across the great hall and think about it. Answering his mail, animatedly talking with his friends, making big gestures with his fine hands, laughing out loud.

Malfoy sure laughed a lot for someone who was so unpleasant. Sometimes, much more rarely than she watched him, his eyes would meet hers. She never failed to look away first, hot in the face and breathless for no reason.

Which was why when she found herself pulled into a dark classroom, pressed hard up against a wall, she felt not a twinge of fear. Malfoy's clean masculine scent washed over her and she found herself breathing deeper, trying to inhale more of him. She was acutely aware of her messy hair and her minimal makeup.

"Aren't you going to scream?" He asked her, his voice husky and warm. He was alarmingly close to her, his body a hair's breadth away from hers, aligned with her from shoulders to knees, without touching her at all.

"No." She said, much more bravely than she felt. Not that she feared him, but her whole body was trembling in awareness and her stomach was doing disturbing flip flops. His eyes almost glowed in the shadows, his hair a white spot in the darkness. She forced her hands to stillness, a disturbing desire to touch him momentarily causing them to twitch before her mind caught up with her reflexes.

"Aren't you afraid Granger? All alone with the big bad Slytherin?" His hand ghosted out of nowhere and touched her hair. She was surprised when she didn't flinch and didn't lean into his touch. Surprised and pleased with herself. She did however tense when his hand slid back to the nape of her neck and cupped her throat, his rough thumb brushing over her pulse.

"No." She repeated breathlessly, and was ashamed of her inane reply. Where were all her witty quips? This close to him she was suddenly inept and tongue tied. His thumb traveled across her throat, up her jaw line, and caressed her lips. They parted instinctually and before she could shy in embarrassment he groaned and swayed into her.

Hard flesh brushed against her and she groaned too. This close to him she could see his features clearly, drawn tight over high cheek's and fine bones. His eyes were like molten silver in the dark. Her hands stayed resolutely at her sides in response to a sane voice in the back of her mind gibbering at her that this was Draco Freaking Malfoy and she ought to want to slap him, not touch soft flesh and hard muscle.

"Why do you enchant me?" His lips ghosted over hers, more a mingling of shared breath, a light brush of flesh, than a kiss, but more powerful than even her most intense kisses with other boys. "Did you cast a spell on me?" He whispered before touching her lips for real. He kissed her once, twice, soft meeting of cool lips against hers.

His tongue darted out and tasted the fine line of her lips, as if asking for permission, before he tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth, gaining entrance to her mouth and moaning deep in his throat.

Hermione's world spun out of control and she found herself sliding her hands around his back to pull his body closer to hers. It was as if he had launched an attack on her senses. Her mouth was alive with his taste, she was inhaling his scent, and her nerve endings were exploding with the reality of his touch.

His tongue pushed up against hers and his hand fisted in her hair, tilting her head the way he wanted it. His mouth was warm and wet and her lips tingled as he was first rough, then soft. His body pressed against her firmly, pushing her into the wall with a bump. He slid a hand down her spine to her behind, cupping her familiarly, like he touched her this way every day.

He pulled her into his body in a decidedly more intimate way and she felt her whole body flush when she realized what was pressed up against her pelvis.

He rocked into her, a decidedly carnal motion, his tongue mimicking his pelvis and her whole body overheated. No one had ever touched her like this. He had none of the hesitant fumbling of her limited experience. He touched her like he owned her. Like she was his and he was hers and they had kissed like this a hundred times.

His hand slid down to her knee, cupping her there, before he twisted them and brought her leg up over his hip so he could fit himself more snugly between her thighs. Jesus, her head thumped back against the wall as her shifting hips threw her off balance. She knew she ought to be protesting this intimate touching but she really didn't want him to stop.

His lips left hers and she cried out in protest but he bent his head to her neck and she arched into his touch, tremors of pleasure racing through her body. His hips rocked relentlessly against her and it was so much better than her own hesitant touching in the privacy of her room at home. She'd had no idea that her neck was such a map of quivering nerves. He knew just how much pressure to use to keep her on the edge of too much, each sucking warm kiss sending spikes of pleasure sparking through her body. She hadn't realized that kissing could make even her toes warm with awareness.

His rocking hips tantalized her, just barely brushing her most sensitive and private of spots. She ought to be embarrassed. She ought to be more modest. Instead she tilted her hips and pushed back at him to get firmer contact and couldn't even find a shred of control when she let out a cry as he thrust harder turning his hips and holding her tighter. Her center wound tighter and tighter till it was almost painful. She writhed against him, clutching at his shoulders and kissing his neck almost feverishly.

"That's right sweetheart, cum for me." He begged breathlessly into her hair before he kissed her again. This time it was more of a frenzied exchange of nips and sucks and she thought she might break if this pressure on her body didn't end soon. The spiral of pleasure between her legs finally ricocheted through her body in mind swamping waves and she heard his fine silky robes rip under her hands.

He'd called her sweetheart.

Her body was boneless and weak and if he hadn't been holding her up she might have slid to a heap on the floor.

Her breathing was irregular and her whole body still thrummed in aftershocks.

He released his grip on her thigh and her leg slid down his in an intimate tangle. He kissed her throat and shoulder, gently now, almost reverently. She realized distantly, through her haze of satisfaction, that her mind blowing release had been a one sided affair. In a moment of reckless clarity she found herself contemplating how she would give him the same pleasure as he had given her.

He lifted his head and she gazed up at him dazedly, realizing she would let him touch her any way he pleased. The thought scared her back to reality and she blushed profusely. He kissed her again, once more, the soft press of his mouth on hers decadent and sweet. "Don't do that," he whispered against her swollen lips, "Don't be embarrassed."

"You don't know what I was thinking." She murmured hesitantly, shyly initiating another kiss. Tentatively running her hands up his muscled chest. His sharp in-drawn breath, the slight tremble beneath her hands, gave her confidence and she swept her hand up to cup his neck to kiss him more firmly.

He let out a ragged breathless sound and kissed her back. She didn't know how long they stood there, caught up in the dance of lips and tongues and touches. But when she undid the clasp of his robes and reached inside to touch firm flesh he pulled back from her.

"Don't tempt me too much, Hermione." He leaned his forehead against hers and she took ragged breaths trying to calm her racing nerves. He wanted to stop? Her spinning feelings were hard to grasp but she reached out and latched onto hurt. Why did he want to stop? He'd never said her name before, it sounded almost like a dirty endearment in his roughened husky voice. "Where are your parents?"

Her parents?

Hermione pulled away from him sharply. What was this all about? What did her parents have to do with anything? Who the hell brought up a person's parents at a time like this? She went from intoxicated warm fuzzy feelings to anger in the space of a heartbeat? Was this just some kind of sick game? Did he suddenly remember that he was wrapped up in a hot lip lock with a filthy muggle? Hot tears stung her eyes but she brutally kept them at bay.

He didn't let her pull away completely, gripping her arms and keeping her close to him. She might bruise. His eyes were angry and sharp, his voice harsh and low. A complete one eighty from a few moments ago. "The Death Eaters are angry. Harry Potter got away and is wrapped safe as a bloody babe in the arms of Dumbledore. He's not the only target, they want blood. Voldemort wants blood. Muggle blood."

His hands loosened their grip, slid down her arms to her hips. Again no hesitation, just complete confidence that he had every right to touch her however he pleased. "Half the major Death Eaters are in prison including my father. They want someone to pay. There's talk. You need to move your parents, tonight. Have Dumbledore stash them somewhere safe."

"My parents don't have anything to do with the war." Hermione whispered, horror struck at what he was implying. "They're just dentists, they wouldn't hurt anyone."

Her breath hitched as he leaned in close to her ear. But her body's reaction was lost in the wave of dismay that washed over her when he recited her parents' names, her home address, the address of her parents joint practice, her grandmother's home address, the number of the subway train her father took into work, that her mother preferred to drive, what time the office closed…she pushed him away, appalled at the accuracy of what he knew, the calm detachment in his voice as he listed details about her life. He knew because the Death Eaters knew.

They must have someone watching them she thought frantically. She had to get to Dumbledore!

She ran for the door but his voice stopped her cold. "Granger, don't forget, you're a target too. Watch your back."

She stood there for a moment, just looking at him, as he stood alone in the shadows. His robe hung open part way, there was a rip in the shoulder, and his fine hair was mussed from her touch. Her sense of urgency overwhelmed her and she flew down the hall.

_Authors Note:_

_This fiction was began many years ago and branches off after book five. It is not compliant with half-blood prince or Deathly Hallows. When I began writing this fiction those books had not yet been published._


	2. Do Not Go Quietly

Three Death Eaters were captured in the attack on the Granger home. She wished she could have seen their surprised faces when instead of helpless muggles they found members of the order assembled in her parents' bedroom. She had gone to Dumbledore, of course. She had been prepared to tell him that she couldn't reveal where she had gotten her information. If anyone found out that Malfoy had warned her, his life would have been forfeit. However, it turned out her resolve was a moot point, because in the end, Dumbledore didn't even ask who had told her. It was almost anticlimactic after all of her mental preparation to defy him and refuse to give up her source.

Her parents weren't hurt. But something inside of her died that day. She hadn't really thought about her parents being in danger. She would have put herself in harm's way for Harry and still would, but she had never thought about the war involving her family. She had always foolishly thought herself on the fringes. Dabbling in something dangerous and exciting and in the end it was her job to be Harry Potter's friend. Now everything was so much more personal. So much more real. She felt foolish and shortsighted, a relatively new feeling for her.

Hermione found darker music to suit her darker moods. She sat long hours on the roof of Grimmauld place, drawing and thinking. She discovered that she was angry and didn't know how long she had been. Things at Hogwarts were wrong. Before, she had never questioned the division between her muggle life and her magic life. When she went to school she left behind her parents, her music, her laptop, and her clothes. Everyone did. She went to school and pretended like she wasn't different than all the other witches and wizards and until this happened she hadn't seen anything wrong with it.

She poured over history books. About how ignorance caused hate, and how hate caused war. Some people she knew were also muggle-born, like Dean Thomas. But she only knew that because he had made such a big deal about soccer during first year. When was the last time she had heard him talk about soccer? He now gushed enthusiastically about Quidditch. Like everyone else. She honestly couldn't name the majority of the school; tell whether they came from muggle homes. Because no one talked about it. They left their muggle heritage at home.

It made Hermione angry. Why shouldn't she be able to be herself completely at school? This war was serious. Very serious. Hermione wasn't going to hide behind Dumbledore and Harry Potter and pretend she wasn't Muggle-born. When she went back to Hogwarts, she was taking her laptop. Some muggle things were just better. The magical world was delightful with its old world charm, elegant robes and castles, magic wands and dragons. Like something out of a fairy-tale. Even with all of the Voldemort business it was always kind of like he was the evil villain in some novel and Prince Harry would triumph. She'd been seduced by the fairy-tale.

The first chink in the illusion had been when Cedric died. But she hadn't really known him, and even though Harry's tortured soul made her want to weep it was almost like he was a minor character. Some minor characters had to die in order for it to be a good story. Then Harrys' godfather was dead. That had been a blow to her. Someone she knew and cared about cut down ruthlessly in battle. But he was a hero and had gone down fighting, just the way he would have wanted to.

Now there were attacks on Muggles who knew nothing about magic and evil wizards and wars. Her family was in hiding. Her home was in ruins. Her grandmother and aunt had to be relocated for their own safety. Her parents couldn't go to work. Hermione sat on the rooftop and read about World War II and Nazi death camps. She read about religious wars all over the world, senseless stupid killing. She read about train bombings and senseless massacres. She read about atomic bombs and twin tower bombings. She read about dictatorships and terrorists and horrible murders. Then she set her books aside. She wouldn't sit up here and hide and cower. She wouldn't let them win. Because even if they never found her and she was able to ride out the war in hiding, they would have stolen something from her. Her freedom.

Hermione pulled out her cell phone and dialed Janice's number. She'd been out of school for eleven days and had yet to talk to her friends. They were probably worried sick. She chatted with her for a long time, catching up on all that went on over the year. They couldn't exchange e-mails because there were no computers at Hogwarts. Her friends thought that her school must be terribly dull, not even allowed to use computers for anything other than schoolwork. She didn't tell them that there were no computers at all. Finally, Hermione suggested they meet up at a shopping plaza and went inside to let her parents know she was going out.

There was some slight nervousness about her going out, but in the end Hermione's mom realized that she couldn't leave Hermione locked up in a room. That eventually she needed to see her friends. She was to take her cell phone, her wand, and her moms' car so she would have her own transportation. She was not to leave alone unless she had to. Molly Weasley had an absolute fit, she was not one to encourage independence.

Hermione found Molly charming and quaint, her relationship with her children like something off a sitcom. However things were different in the Granger household, she was considered an independent individual and she couldn't imagine her mom screaming at her the way Mrs. Weasley often lost her temper with the boys. Or berating her. Or comparing her to her nonexistent siblings. Hermione was licensed to drive and had no curfew. She had her parents absolute trust. After five years of magical boarding school they were used to her doing as she wished.

Hermione changed into casual muggle clothes. Jeans and a bright red peasant top. Not as daring as her friends would wear, that was for sure. She wished she had the courage to be sexy like Janice, or outgoing like Leslie. But she was just plain Jane Hermione. She applied black eyeliner to her eyes and a sheen of berry lip gloss to her lips. The dark smudged look fit her mood lately, balanced by the bright color of the gloss so she didn't look totally washed out. She stared at herself in the mirror for a long time, declaring herself to look like a typical muggle teenager before she realized that all the primping was to delay the inevitable. She was afraid to go out.

She took a deep breath and steeled her courage. She would not let Voldemort and his Death Eaters make her a prisoner. He found her way to the garage, magically added specifically for her mum and dad's comfort, and refused to wait another moment longer.

The plaza wasn't overly busy, it being a Thursday. Janice had brought Leslie along and they did a little shopping before taking in a movie. Afterwards they had lunch in a little café and the girls flirted shamelessly with the waiter while Hermione blushed with her face buried in her coffee. She wished she was more outgoing, Lord knew her friends had tried to encourage her that way. But she wasn't sexy or even really cute. She would feel ridiculous batting her eyes and spouting innuendo. Leslie was especially pushy and had been responsible for Hermione's two short lived muggle boyfriends.

She had never felt overly confident with anyone, must less boys and usually covered it with her know it all attitude. She knew that others found it annoying but when she was nervous she started spouting facts. Unfortunately people she didn't know well made her very nervous so she didn't always make the best first impression. She was very secure in her academic knowledge, but she knew that she failed a little when it came to social skills.

She was lucky to have friends in both her worlds to ease her way. Leslie and Janet had been mates ever since grade school dance classes. She would admit that she was much closer to Harry and Ron but it wasn't because these girls weren't dear to her. They just didn't have much in common, especially coupled with the fact that they knew nothing about her other life.

Regardless of time and distance they knew her well enough to know something big was up when they teased her about finding her a boyfriend. She felt her face light up like a sunset and they pounced immediately with questions. At first she tried to put them off but was unsuccessful, finally snapping that _fine_ a boy had kissed her at the end of school. They wanted details and Hermione wanted to slap herself. This was her chance to talk about what had happened, how weird she felt, without any censure at all. Yet, she couldn't make herself. All she could do was blush and insist it was no big deal. If she couldn't tell Janice, who would never meet Malfoy, she would never ever be able to tell the boys.

Finally they changed the subject when they saw they were only making her uncomfortable. Leslie wanted to skate awhile, to work off the milkshake she had devoured so they made their way over to the ice rink and Hermione was relieved. She could be alone with her thoughts while she skated. This was stupid, it was just a kiss. Not even her first kiss. Her fist kiss had been Andy Miller and it had been very nice. Still no one had ever touched her the way Malfoy had touched her.

She tightened her skates a final time and moved smoothly out on the ice. Long leisurely strokes with her legs had her gliding. She'd had to leave school immediately even though there was still two days till the train left. She hadn't gotten to see him again. She was so nervous. Thinking about the next time she would see him. Would it be like before, when he had pretended nothing had happened? But this wasn't a casual touch, this was full out snogging. She didn't want to pretend it hadn't happened.

What would he say if he saw her now? Gliding along, hair whipping behind her. Muggle clothes. That might bother him. He always looked so elegant in his pristine robes. She doubted he would find her tawdry outfit appealing. But then again who would have thought he'd find her appealing? She was nothing like Pansy Parkinson with her blond shiny locks and elegant carriage. Or any of the other beautiful girls he had dated. She was frumpy and plain. But he must have seen something in her; something had made him want to touch her. Or was it all just a game of his? "Why do you enchant me?" His voice echoed in her head more often than she cared to admit.

The girls caught up to her and they took a break to have a bite of pizza. Janine invited her to spend the night, promising her to do something fun with her hair. Sometimes Hermione thought that they only wanted out hang out with her in order to have a life-size Barbie. Not that she was as fun as Barbie. She didn't let them dress her in skimpy outfits like they wanted, or pile on dark layers of makeup. Despite the fact that they constantly insisted she needed a makeover. She didn't' have time for all that frivolous silliness. She literally recoiled when they suggested she cut her hair into a stylish bob. She might bemoan her hair but it was part of her identity. She would feel naked without it to hide behind.

Still, the point of tonight was to live without fear so she told them she was going to pop out to call her mum while they went to the loo. The music was loud in the rink and the whole place got lousy reception. She glanced around making sure no one looked suspicious before ducking outside. It was cool and breezy outside, and darker than she had expected She touched her wand with her hand, it was snugged in a small inner pocket that she had sown on each of her shirts, feeling just a touch of nervousness. She shrugged, decided she was being silly and stepped away from the door even as she pulled out her cell and flipped it open.

She hit the speed dial button and leaned back against the cool brick of the building. Then she heard it. A muttered Accio. Before she could counter the spell her cell phone left her hand. She reacted quickly, pulling out her wand and scanning the darkness for the wizard who had her phone. Get inside, her mind screamed. She backed up towards the door slowly, wand held defensively.

She didn't expect a physical attack.

The hands came out of nowhere, knocking her wand aside and gripping her arms. In seconds an iron hand was clamped over her mouth so she couldn't get out more than muffled shouts and her legs were held firm so she couldn't kick out at her assailants. There was more than one of them. "Crimey Howard, Do you know who this is?"

"No! That's not really her is it?"

"Of all the lucky catches, The Dark Lord will be so pleased."

"Let's get her back to Howard's."

Hermione struck out blindly, panic overwhelming her senses. Not just anyone, Death Eaters. She was trussed up, wand less, and at the mercy of Death Eaters. And they knew who she was. She couldn't believe that they had taken her down so easily. Hermione screamed around the hand at her mouth begging for someone to help her. She struggled hard, but they were so much stronger than her. There were at least five of them. In a sickening matter of seconds she felt a horrifyingly familiar tug at her navel and a portkey whisked her away from any hope of rescue.

She tumbled to the hard floor roughly. Her forceful landing broke her free from her captors and she struggled to her feet clumsily. They were in a furnished room with no less than a dozen of them. They surrounded her in an uneven circle and Hermione mentally braced herself to go down fighting. With an ear splitting shriek she rushed the circle and was pushed back brutally. She stumbled awkwardly and regained her balance to try again, resolutely ignoring the verbal taunts and laughing. They stepped in, tightening the circle, shoving her sadistically from one to the other. One grabbed her arm and flung her. Another brutally backhanded her in the face.

She remembered hearing once that if your abductors didn't bother to hide their face it was because they didn't intend to let you live.

The laughing faces blurred from one to the other and Hermione hated her tears. Hated giving them the satisfaction. They were calling her names, laughing at her, pushing her. And then it all stopped. She stared at the man in front of her, observed his blank look, before darkness closed in around her and the last thing she thought as she crumpled to the ground was that she really didn't want to be unconscious with this lot.

* * *

Hermione was safe and warm and comfortable. Her body was rocking gently, she was being carried. This was nice.

Wait. Memory crashed into her head and panic consumed her.

Her eyes shot open, her mouth parted for all out screaming. Her gaze fell on aristocratic features, soft lips, and silver eyes. Malfoy. She was being carried by Malfoy. She drew in a deep shuddering breath, relief flooding her senses, and was assaulted by his crisp clean scent. "What happened?" She asked softly, and was shocked by her hoarse voice echoing in her ears. He stopped walking and just looked down at her for a moment. His expression was inscrutable, unreadable. Hermione didn't like feeling confused, out of her depth.

His arms flexed and his muscled tensed like steel underneath her. He was in his robes; naturally. One arm was under her shoulders, the other slung under her knees. Her head was pillowed against the soft silk of his shoulder. He held her easily, as if she weighed nothing, and just stared at her. Hermione's body thrummed and pulsed, as if she had too much blood in her body. She was aware of every scrape and bruise.

Finally, he shifted and slid her down his body to her feet. He didn't however let her go. She was intensely conscious of his strong fingers warm against her waist, the column of his throat mere inches from her lips, his eyes boring into her skull. Finally Hermione's brain kicked in, they were on a dark street she didn't recognize. Were they even still in London? How was she going to get home? Her mother was probably worried sick. "Where are we?"

She was astonished at his harsh angry pitch when he finally decided to answer her. "What were you doing out alone Granger? I told you to watch yourself!"

She pulled away from his loose grasp, irritated at his tone. "I wasn't alone!" She tossed back heatedly. "I was out with friends." A horrible sinking sensation settled in her stomach. "Just how did you know where I was? Were you part of it? What were you doing? Were you out Muggle-hunting and I just happened to get in the way?"

He reached out and grasped her arms tightly, wrenching her closer. She cried out at his rough handling and his hands instantly gentled. Not so his eyes, they raged like gray storm clouds. "I got an owl," he said calmly, biting out each word individually with as much icy venom as he could manage. He pushed the elastic of her sleeves up her arms even as he spoke, examining her colorful bruises and scrapes with a careful eye.

"Those morons thought I might want to come along since I have such a colorful history with you and your friends." Several of the bruises on her arms had distinct finger shapes where her assailants had gripped her. She looked at them dispassionately, almost as if they were someone else's arms.

"How did you get me out?" She asked, her voice sounded distant and far away and she vaguely recognized growing concern on Malfoy's features.

"Sleeping spell." He answered simply; he turned his head and looked up and down the street. "We really can't stay here, someone could come by." He slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his body. He encouraged her to walk down the street, and she took a few stumbling steps before she began to cry.

Now that everything was calmed down and she was safe she felt overwhelmed by the horror of it all. She found herself pressed into an alleyway and pulled into sturdy arms. "It's all right Hermione," he whispered, even as she clutched his sleek robes and buried her face against his chest. "It's all right to cry."

His soft words only made her cry harder and she wept uncontrollably. Once she started she couldn't seem to stop and she didn't know how long she spent wrapped in his embrace sobbing her heart out. Finally she cried herself dry. She knew her face would be red and blotchy. Her nose was runny. She kept her head down and tried to figure out how to clean herself up minus a washcloth or a wand or any other useful tools. Malfoy's robes were soaked.

He pressed a silk embroidered handkerchief into her hand, emblazoned with the Malfoy crest. She mopped up her tears but hesitated at her nose, he couldn't really expect her to blow her nose with something so pretty. "Go ahead, I've got dozens." He pushed her hair back from her face and she tried to blow her nose delicately. There was really no way to blow snot and be well mannered at the same time. He ran a gentle hand down the length of her jaw line; she could tell by the soreness that she must have a bruise there. Hermione tried to smooth down her hair; she was sure it was probably frizzy and tangled. For lack of a better place to put the little silk scrap she shoved it in her pocket.

She pushed her hair behind her ears and swiped again at her eyes. Figures, the one time she wore eyeliner she ended up sobbing and rubbing it everywhere. She couldn't believe she had broken down in front of him like that. She must look an absolute fright. "You look fine, fucking beautiful. Let's go." Was that supposed to be sarcasm?

"Do you have to use such foul language? Where are we going?" She asked with some of her usual asperity. He rolled his eyes expressively but tugged her close to him again, slipping an arm around her waist. Hermione's senses went haywire with his casual touch. He was cuddling up to her as if they were a couple. Were they a couple? Did a handful of kisses and a little heavy petting make him her boyfriend? He certainly never mentioned it. She was so confused.

Hermione liked things to be black and white, simple and to the point. Her "relationship" with Malfoy had no clearly drawn lines, no boundaries, no rules. For crying out loud, she referred to him as Malfoy in her head.

"St Mungo's, get you checked out, back with your parents." Hermione's eyes flew wide and she pulled away from Malfoy's careless embrace.

"I'm fine; I most certainly am not going to St Mungo's."

"You don't know if you're fine. You're covered in bruises and practically in shock. You're going to see a healer and that's final."

"You don't get to tell me what to do!" She cried. Yes she was being irrational. Yes it was sweet that he was concerned about her. But the thought of the paper's finding out about her attack horrified her.

"Look Granger, it's sensible to see a healer. And you are nothing if not sensible. Your parents…"

"Are Muggles." He stopped speaking at her announcement and she enjoyed a wonderful moment while he radiated puzzlement. Setting Malfoy off balance wasn't easy, and very rare. "I should go to the Muggle hospital."

"You want to get cut open?" He questioned with no small level of alarm and Hermione felt a burst of affection for him. Without thinking she stepped closer to him and cupped his face for a light brush of her lips. He stood completely still under her touch and she stepped back suddenly shy and unsure. He followed her, stepping into her personal space and radiating tension. "You like to play with fire, don't you Hermione." He asked, his voice taking on that husky quality she remembered from her dreams. His hands came up and settled at her hips firmly. He took another step bringing his lower body into contact with hers.

He bent his head and brushed his lips over hers and Hermione fought against the betraying trembling and breathiness that seemed to be characteristic around him. "Do you think about that day, at Hogwarts?" He whispered before touching her lips again. His hands flexed against her hips and Hermione swayed embarrassingly into his touch. Fuck it, she thought in her head as she reached her hands out to slide around his back and tilted her head up for another kiss. He kissed her more firmly and Hermione fisted her hands in his robes for balance. He tasted clean and fresh, like mint. His tongue was silky and smooth and slid against hers in a way that made her think dirty thoughts. He pulled back suddenly and she tried to follow him, to kiss him again. Her whole body stung with the loss of his lips. "Do you?"

Did she what? Want him to kiss her? Oh Hogwarts. Of course she thought about it. It wasn't every day that she achieved bone melting orgasm with a boy she was supposed to distrust and dislike. Or with any one at all for that matter. There were a million witty things running through her mind that she could say to lessen the tension, make light of what was now bordering on obsession on her part. "Yeah, I think about it." She whispered back even as she swept one hand up to clutch his hair and pulled his head back down to her lips.

She kissed him with a hunger she hadn't known she possessed before him. With a confidence she had never found with other boys. He clouded her mind with his scent and his skin and his lips and she couldn't really find the room in her mind to worry about how she wasn't measuring up.

He pulled back from her and she let out a frustrated sound and twisted her hand in his hair. He pushed her hair aside with a smooth sweep of his hand and kissed her neck softly. Hermione lost all feeling in her legs and wrapped her arms around him tightly to keep upright. "I think about it." He whispered in between mind numbing kisses on her skin.

"The way you taste and the scent of your skin. The little sounds you make, your body pressed up against mine." His hand boldly ran up her back along bare skin under the loose hem of her shirt. Goosebumps broke out in his wake and she tentatively tried kissing him back under the soft skin of his ear. She was rewarded and emboldened when he growled and nipped her. Surprisingly that felt as good as his soft kisses.

"Your hair's a mess." Huh? Hermione let go of him to smooth her hair down but he caught her wrists in his firm grip and forced her hands down to her sides. He let her go and reached out to run his hands down her hair, he pulled on lock up to his lips and ghosted a kiss over it. "I imagine it this way, spread out over my sheets. Red, I think; the finest silk." He used one hand to wrap around her waist and turned her so that she was back to torso with him, flush against his body. He buried his head in her hair and took a deep breath. "Sometimes I picture you in my shirt, other times naked and golden."

Once again his hand was under her shirt, sliding over the soft skin of her stomach. "If you won't go to St. Mungo's, I need to get you home." How could he shift gears so fast? How could he go from touching her and telling her that he fantasized about her to taking her home? Home? What time was it?

"Oh! My mom! She's probably worried sick. I need to go back to the plaza, get her car. Maybe my wand is still there."

He nuzzled her neck, his hands sliding over her skin in a decidedly intimate way. He touched her like he owned her. Like he had touched her this way a million times. Despite everything in her mind, her body loved it. His thumb brushed the underside of her breast and she gave a little jump, bracing her hands on his forearms.

"Knight Bus?"

"No!" She said loudly, alarmed at the thought of anyone seeing her like this. "We can take a cab."

"A cab?" He kissed the back of her neck, through her hair. "We should take the Knight bus. Get you straight home."

"I can't. There's a secret keeper. I wouldn't be able to tell them where to go. A cab is a public car; we can go to the ice rink and pick up my mom's car."

"Can't we take the Knight bus to the wherever?" Maybe she was imagining it, but his exasperation had a bit of fondness to it.

"Do you have to argue with everything I say? What's wrong with a cab?"

"Do you see a cab?"


End file.
